Not Quite Recovered

Who: Hunt and Brian
Where: Hunt's house, then Brian's house
When: Late afternoon

There was cold beneath he, around him and it took a moment for Hunt to realise that he was lying on tiles. He opened his eyes to darkness and blinked, yet it was still there. His head swam, he didn't really know where he was, nothing made sense. Things weren't connecting. His head pounded, he felt sick, every muscle screamed with pain. He moaned, the sound incoherent.

Brian looked up at the sound, though there was nothing to see. "Hunt?" He slid down from his perch on the sink, slowly and carefully, as much for his own sake as to make sure he didn't wind up landing on Hunt, or slipping and falling on Hunt. "You awake down there?" He bent, half-crouching, to find a foot and pat it.

Hunt moaned again as he curled up, rolling onto his side. The voice echoed in his head, more than even a bathroom should have allowed, seeming to fade in an out, repeating and repeating, coming at him from all sides. Other voices joined in until there was a cacophony surrounding him. He felt the hand on his foot and flinched, drawing his leg further up, his lips finally opening, whispering words and gesturing with his hand, sending a spark down, a tiny bolt of electricity to shock the intruder. Not enough to hurt, just a warning to leave well alone.

Brian ignored his own personal sparkings at the second sound to give Hunt's foot a little shake-- only then there was a jolt that didn't come from his own backlash, and he yanked his hand back and shook it vigorously. "What the hell, man! It's me, it's Brian... c'mon, Hunt, talk to me, here." He wasn't giving up that easily. He was worried now, because he knew that was intentional on Hunt's part. It was hard to cast a spell on accident. At least he wasn't annoyed yet. He had no idea what was going on in the guy's head-- if anything was at all.

Hunt wasn't properly orientated to time and place. Or orientated at all. The world surrounding him was different, disjointed, certain aspects coming through, those relating directly to senses - the tiles below him, the echoes of the room, the feel of Brian touching him. But each sense was magnified yet diminished at the same time, coming and going together with reality as Hunt's brain splintered and grappled at some kind of hold, the spell disintegrating, exploding and fracturing his mind, leaving only base instincts and long sealed off skills behind. Hunt didn't recognise the voice talking to him, couldn't tell the difference between friend and foe.

"Come on, Hunt... say something. Anything." Brian crouched down, wincing at the discomfort of half-closed wounds, and this time instead of patting, shaking, or grabbing, tried just petting Hunt's foot, like it was a frightened animal. Even if he wasn't hearing properly, maybe something soothing would work. Or would do something. He tried making his voice soothing, too. "It's okay, man. You're okay. I mean, I know you're a little cut up, but it's not too bad. And we're not gonna let them get you again, promise." Though how he was going to keep that promise, Brian had no idea. How the hell was he going to get Hunt home without him freaking out on him?

Hunt flinched at the touch, but didn't fight back this time, stilling instead after the initial drawback, the soothing tone seeming to have some effect, though it was not actually clear whether the effect was from the tone, or just a coincidence of timing. Hunt's eyes were open, staring in the darkness, almost unblinking, definitely unseeing - not that there was really anything to see in the blackness in any event. He was silent now though as the moaning ceased and he seemed to have entered a period of calm.

Might as well take advantage of that moment of calm-- at the very least, get him moved. This was gonna suck, but Brian figured he didn't have a lot of choice at this point. Maybe Hunt wouldn't even notice the change, since they wouldn't exactly move.

Still petting Hunt's foot and ankle soothingly, Brian reached out for the familiar "space" of his own bathroom, where he knew it was dark and safe, and brought it together to reach this space, less familiar but at least where he was right then. It took a try or two before it worked, before when he let the two points of space go, they were in the right one. The tiles beneath Hunt changed to linoleum, the tub he was curled against a slightly different height, but that was the only real change, at least immediately.

And it was still pitch black. Wonderful. At least they hadn't been attacked upon reappearance, and the house didn't have that "full" feel to the space, so Domino had already gone.

Hunt didn't even seem to register the change and, in fact, he didn't. His mental capacity was slowly shutting down for now, able only to react to that which was deemed a threat as his breathing evened out and slowed, his mind regressing even further into itself, though the whispers were still there, and ever present muddle of half-dreams that chased his fractured mind.

Sighing with relief a little at the lack of response-- the lack of panicked flailing, more like-- and worry at the lack of response-- it surely didn't bode well for Hunt-- Brian scrubbed his hand through his hair and over his face, trying to decide what to do with the guy. Moving him was a must-- he could take the bed, with Domino going to be gone for the night and Hunt in rather worse state than Brian himself. Trying to get food and water into him could happen later. "All right, man," he said, gearing himself up for the tough job of playing nursemaid in the dark. "Let's get you settled in."